


Blue Faced God

by creepymura



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You take my breath away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Faced God

**Author's Note:**

> written in second person, from 2D's perspective.

It was always different with him.

You always found yourself making excuses.

When friends asked about your various bruises and cuts, you smiled, almost proudly, and excused it as a bump into the stairs or a scuffle with a stray cat. And they would believe you, because your friends weren’t the kinds to pry.

You wouldn’t admit that he gave them to you.

You like the marks that he left though, even though they throbbed and stung for days.

He was an artist and you were his canvas. He made you into art. You were happy you could be that for him. That you could be everything he wanted you to be.

It was all worth it when he would smile, and stroke your hair. Tell you how well you had done. Tell you how proud he was of you. Tell you how much he loved you.

He called you his blue-haired God. He called you his black-eyed angel.

So you didn’t care when he bound you, gagged you, hurt you. Made you scream. Made you cry.

So you didn’t care when you were on your knees, your collar, your personalized black leather collar, with complimenting silver studs and a heart shaped tag, embossed with your name, locked around your neck, the chain leash in his hand. 

It was always worth it.

That’s why you didn’t care when he slipped the plastic bag over your head.

Your breath was suddenly short, and the panic made you instantly take in more of your very limited supply. He holds it tight, unrelenting.

You convulse, grabbing at the plastic edge, grabbing at him, but he shushes you. Tells you to hold on. His hands, his gorgeous, strong hands, clench tight on the plastic.

Your head is spinning, your body is shaking, you're hard. Told yourself that you shouldn’t be, but you are.

The feeling of his hands at your neck, the softness in his gravelly voice, the way he held you so close to him, so tenderly. There was no reason you weren’t going to be.

You ran out of air quickly, the plastic slowly suffocating you. You feel tears in your eyes, you’re scared. He holds on tighter.

Your limbs feel heavy. You feel his gaze on you, you want to make eye contact with him and make it stop, tell him you can’t take it, you can’t hold on like he wants you to. You’re convulsing harder now.

You grip at his wrist, trying to wrench it away from your neck. He’s stronger than you, so your effort is nothing but wasted energy.

Your vision is hazy, your eyes rolling back into your skull, and when you’re about to black out, he pulls the plastic from your face, and catches you when you fall.

You come to. 

You start sobbing.

He strokes your hair, shushes your sobs. Holds your face and wipes away your tears. Your eyes are white with panic, but he’s smiling. No, not smiling. Smirking. Like he's mocking you. Making fun of you.

You pull away from him, suddenly scared of what he might do, but he holds you still. You’re still shaking, you can’t stop. You haven’t stopped crying either.

“Good boy,” he says, and kisses you on the forehead, suddenly soft again. “You did so well,” he says, stroking down your arms to hold you close, until you stop shaking, stop crying, and you’re holding him back, gripping on his shirt, craving to be close to him again. Like you’ve forgotten everything.

Then he’s touching you, because you’re still hard. He grips you tight, and you’re desperate for it, bucking into his grip. Holding onto him, eyes slipping shut, giving into him completely. 

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. And it’s beautiful.

Then he finishes you off, and he shoves you back, against the floor. Unzips his jeans. Pushes your legs apart, exposing your hole.

No protection, no preparation. He pushes inside of you and it burns. Hurts. Nothing you’re not used to though.

You’re quiet. More so than usual. He is too. You’re trying not to cry again. He doesn’t seem to notice much.

He pushes deep inside you, you scream out and cum again. He pushes your head down, and you’re crying, it’s too much.

He cums inside of you, and pulls out. Then it’s over.

He stands up, puts himself away, abandons the leash and gives you the key to your collar, and leaves you to sort yourself out. He doesn’t say anything when he leaves either.

You cry a little longer. Sobbing, remembering what he did, how your head still hurts and the marks on your neck won’t go away. How he just left you to deal with it by yourself. That’s almost the worst part.

But you stop eventually, hiccuping and wiping away your tears yourself. The cum on your stomach is dry now.

You unlock your collar, and put it away, the tag jingles, the little silver heart almost mocking you. The chain goes with it.

You sit, naked, for a while. Touching the harsh groves on your neck, fingers shaking slightly.

You remember he called you a good boy, and you’re smiling, despite the pain, despite the tears.

You’re glad that he’s happy with what you did, happy you pulled through. Even if he’s gone now.

You shower then, stand under the water, stroking at your brand new marks. You’re sad they won’t last longer. Debate doing it again to yourself so you don’t forget.

You touch yourself in the shower. Feel what he left inside you. Remember how good it felt when he did it. You slip two fingers inside yourself, fuck yourself like he did. You scream his name when you climax, cum against the tiles. Wish he was there.

You grimace slightly, cleaning it off, cleaning yourself.

You let out a steady breath as you sit on the bed, thinking about the special new marks, still smiling. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

You’re in bliss. Ecstasy. Heaven.

He doesn’t make eye contact with you the next day.

You wonder why.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll probably write more of these. i run off of compliments and requests.  
> i can be found at whipstickagocock (nsfw warning) on tumblr if that's your preferred platform of choice
> 
> ray x


End file.
